


a simply divine dinner

by ceruleancats



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, F/M, Forgiveness, Humor, Post-Season 5A, Season/Series 05, because chloe has replaced "oh god" with "oh fuck" in her internal monologue, canon compliant up to the end of season 5A, chloe has to deal with lucifer's fam for like 20 minutes and her brain gets broken, rated t for cursing, the inherent comedy of dinner with two angels and the devil and god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleancats/pseuds/ceruleancats
Summary: Chloe volunteers to come along with Lucifer to his family dinner for moral support. She doesn't expect it to be a normal dinner, obviously, but holy shit. At least it's not boring?
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, God & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 262





	a simply divine dinner

**Author's Note:**

> I have been chipping away at this baby for a few weeks now, because I have zero time and am also a very slow writer, but I really needed to get this out before we hear any spoilers about season 5B (because I'm about to get massively jossed as soon as it's released). Also since I was writing it in small chunks, the pacing might be a little wonky. A Lot happens during this dinner, y'all. But don't worry, happy ending! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy my take on what will happen during Family Dinner (aka episode 9 of season 5) in a perfect world, and let me know what ya think! Comments and kudos really do Fuel Me :)

This is, quite possibly, the most awkward dinner Chloe has ever had the misfortune of attending. And yes, that is counting the one where Lucifer had the murder suspect they thought had poisoned his own father's last meal help make the food.

It’s not only the fact that it’s taking place in Lucifer’s penthouse, where someone has apparently carted the piano away to God—uh, _goodness_ —knows where in order to make room for a long, ornately carved wooden dining table, because, well, Amenadiel didn’t feel comfortable kicking Linda (and baby Charlie) out of her own house to have it there; Michael has, as far as she knows, just been skulking around since Lucifer beat him up and kicked him out of the penthouse (maybe he’s been living in that awful abandoned zoo cave this whole time? It’s certainly the right flavor of evil lair, so Chloe wouldn’t put it past him); Chloe was silenced rapidly by the almost terrified look on Lucifer’s face when she tried to volunteer her own place; and, you know, God Himself just arrived on Earth today, and didn’t seem like He had a dining room lined up for this kind of thing. So it’s not just that the five of them are sitting at a dining table in the middle of a room that didn’t have a dining table this morning, in Lucifer’s home turf.

It’s mostly the fact that, for the past several minutes, absolutely no one has said a word. Oh, and that she’s having dinner with two angels, the Devil, and fucking _God_. Why the hell had she let Lucifer drag her into this, again?

Well, okay, no, she really can’t blame Lucifer for this; she volunteered, after all. When she’d blinked during their conversation in the evidence room and Lucifer had been gone in the middle of his stuttering sentence, and she’d burst out into the precinct and been greeted with the sound of shattering glass and the sight of papers skidding off desks like they’d been scattered by invisible hands. Lucifer had been standing by her desk, looking distinctly ruffled, his eyes wide and wild, locking onto her as she rushed over and asked what had happened and if he was okay. “My father is here,” he’d said numbly. “And he wants to have a bloody family dinner.” And she’d immediately blurted out, “I’ll come with you,” and despite his protests of how boring and terrible it would be, she’d seen the way his posture had relaxed and his eyes softened and known it was the right decision.

So yeah, here she is. At a silent dinner table smack in the middle of Lucifer’s penthouse, with tension so thick in the air you’d need an industrial chainsaw to cut it. Amenadiel looks more uncomfortable than she’s ever seen him, and he keeps breathing in sharply like he’s about to say something before apparently thinking better of it and going back to staring quietly at his food. Michael is regarding the rest of the table with a gaze that seems bored and belligerent in turns. God (fucking God!) is staring benevolently at His sons from the head of the table with a small, contented smile on His face, seemingly unbothered by the glaring lack of conversation. And Lucifer…

Chloe turns her head slowly and discreetly to get a better look at his face. His lips are pressed into a firmly neutral line, one of his really obviously fake “everything is just dandy” expressions he likes to whip out when things are completely the opposite of that. But, like always, his emotions bleed out through his eyes (windows to the soul and all that, right?), and she can see some unnamable mix of anger, fear, and hope warring desperately in them. 

She finds his hand under the table where it’s curled into a tight fist in his lap and rests her own on top of it in a gesture she hopes comes across as supportive. Because, Go— _fuck_ , this must be so incredibly painful and confusing for him. His Father, who Lucifer hasn’t seen in literal eons since he started a rebellion and God threw him into Hell for all eternity, is here, on Earth. And the first thing He wants to do isn’t kick Lucifer back down or punish him for breaking his sentence, no. It’s to have a, a somethingdamn family dinner.

Lucifer looks over at her, registering the touch. He gives her a tight smile and unclenches his hand, lacing his fingers with hers. It’s not much, but she’s determined to provide any comfort she can right now, no matter how small. As she’s squeezing his hand gently, Amenadiel clears his throat and finally breaks the oppressive silence.

“So, Father. It’s wonderful to see You, and I am so grateful to be in Your presence once again, but I think I speak for all of us when I say: what are You doing here on Earth?”

“Well, my son,” God begins, and oh wow, yeah, He sounds exactly like you’d think the Almighty would, His voice deep and calm and sure, “do I need a reason to visit a few of my favorite children?”

“Of course not,” Amenadiel says quickly, looking like he very much regrets opening his mouth, “I apologize, Father, I couldn’t presume to—”

“I’m only joking,” God cuts in before Amenadiel can descend into full-blown groveling, His eyes crinkling a bit with amusement. “Yes, I am on Earth for a reason. I know I’ve been gone for a while, perhaps too long. Maybe it’s too late, but I want to reconnect with all of you, my sons.” His gaze sweeps across the table and lingers on Chloe for a moment, and He gives her a little smile of acknowledgement, which Chloe optimistically interprets as, “You’re not my son, exactly, but you’re welcome to be here.”

Lucifer, of course, scoffs. Quieter than his usual expressions of disbelief, but loud enough that Michael notices from across the table, and opens his mouth to presumably make some sort of smarmy remark, but thank, uh, goodness for Amenadiel, who says loudly, “Oh, Father, I’m so happy to hear that! We have so many things to discuss!” Michael closes his mouth and rolls his eyes at the enthusiasm, but doesn’t try to interject. Good.

“Indeed, we do,” says God, nodding. “I imagine you have...questions.”

“Yes, so many! Did You truly tell me that Hell no longer needs a warden? How will the demons be kept contained? And am I right about my theory of angelic self-actualization? It seems I am, so, well, why didn’t You tell us about that?”

God takes a deep breath, lets it out. “Ah, straight to the big questions, I see. Well, I’ll answer these in order. No, it was not I who told you that you were free to leave Hell. I believe that was Michael, attempting to stir up trouble by allowing demons to escape onto Earth again.” God looks over at the angel in question and raises an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Michael grimaces and looks down at the table, avoiding God’s eyes. “Alright, so it might’ve been me. But so what? I was just trying to prove that bad things would happen when Lucifer left Hell again, like they did the last time.” He looks back up and glares across the table at Lucifer, as if daring his brother to contradict him. 

Chloe can see Lucifer’s eyes narrow in her peripheral vision. “Well, I don’t see any demons roaming the streets of Los Angeles this time,” he snaps, finally breaking the uncharacteristic silence he’s maintained since dinner began. “So I believe it’s all worked out just fine, despite your amateur attempts at cocking everything up.”

“If you say so,” Michael replies with his terrible, creepy leer of a smile.

Lucifer’s hand tightens to a slightly uncomfortable degree around hers where they’re still intertwined under the table. He’s opening his mouth, presumably to volley back at Michael, but God clears His throat and Lucifer’s jaw snaps shut in an instant.

“Children. Please, no fighting at the dinner table,” He says mildly, before once again turning towards Amenadiel, who seems to have been watching the start of his brothers’ argument with his eyebrows raised in a distinctly unimpressed way, like they’re two toddlers having a slap fight. Right, he’s the eldest; he’s probably seen variations of this play out a million times. Shit, maybe literally. She always forgets how ancient they all are, but it’s hardly her fault when Lucifer’s the most immature person in the universe (Linda’s words, not hers, but unfortunately they’re pretty accurate). 

Lucifer scoffs again, and Michael rolls his eyes, but neither of them says anything more. Probably wise. It would be really inconvenient to have anyone thrown down into Hell in the middle of the meal, and, more importantly, she is _not_ losing Lucifer again so soon. If she has to fistfight God to protect him, she fucking will.

“As I was saying,” God continues, “it was not me who told you that you were free to leave Hell, but Lucifer is correct; no demons have yet ventured up to Earth, and I believe it will stay that way for a little while, at least.” Lucifer shoots a smirk at Michael, who ignores him, and God continues. “Yes, your theory of self-actualization is accurate. I did not tell you, my sons, because I wanted you to discover this in your own time, in your own way, and I did not want to adversely affect your growth by telling you at the incorrect moment.”

Okay, with all due respect to God Almighty, that’s the kind of thing you say when you fuck up your parenting and you’re trying to cover your ass. Chloe, having been parented, badly, by Penelope Decker, would know. She already kind of has a bad impression of Him from everything Lucifer’s said (and everything he hasn’t) about the way He’s treated Lucifer over the years, and this isn’t really helping. (Hopefully she’s not going to Hell for thinking that in front of Him. Oh no, He can’t read her mind, can He?) Well, also, she hasn’t missed the way He glossed over the small matter of Hell missing a ruler being okay for “a little while.” What is _that_ supposed to mean? She’s not kidding about fistfighting God on Lucifer’s behalf if it comes to it. Even if it means her soul will be obliterated or whatever Celestial shitshow ensues when you piss off God. 

“Ah, I understand, Father,” Amenadiel says, understandingly. “So my Fall was never truly part of a test; as I suspected, I lost my wings because I felt guilty and unworthy of my status as one of Your angels for the pain I caused by reviving Malcolm Graham.” Then he gulps, as if realizing that bringing that up might not have been the wisest topic to bring up in front of his Almighty Father. “I hope I haven’t disappointed You too much,” he adds quietly, bowing his head towards his food. 

“No, Amenadiel, you haven’t disappointed me. In fact, I’m so proud of how you’ve grown here on Earth. Your brief Fall seems to have taught you more than I ever did,” God says, chuckling good-naturedly. “And I hope you, and my other children,” He says, nodding towards Michael and Lucifer, “know I am always willing to forgive you for your mistakes, and that I love you all very much.”

Lucifer stiffens abruptly beside her at those words, his hand rigid in hers. This doesn’t escape God’s notice; He cocks his head slightly in Lucifer’s direction and says, “Yes, Samael?” Which is definitely _not_ the right move — from what little Linda’s been willing to disclose from her and Lucifer’s sessions (she really does take doctor-patient privilege seriously, which is honestly admirable), he _hates_ being called by that name. 

“You have a strange bloody way of showing it,” Lucifer mutters darkly.

“What was that, my son?” God asks, leaning slightly sideways across the table towards him.

“He was just—” Michael begins, in a tone distinctly reminiscent of an elementary school tattletale, but Lucifer interrupts.

“I said, you have a strange bloody way of showing that so-called _love_ ,” he says bitterly, eyes flashing with anger (but not red yet). 

Chloe squeezes his hand, trying to offer silent support. “Lucifer,” she whispers, but she can feel him trembling with anger, and he doesn’t respond, or even look her way. 

God just looks confused, maybe slightly offended. “Why, whatever do you mean?” He asks, blinking at Lucifer.

“Lucifer,” she whispers again, desperately, “I think we should go, this isn’t productive, you don’t have to listen to or engage with him right now.” But it’s too late, and suddenly it’s like the dam of everything he’s been keeping pent up for this whole dinner—no, since his Fall from Heaven so many eons ago, has burst, and there’s no stopping the torrent of emotion from rushing out of him now.

“Did you cast me out of the Silver City and banish me to Hell for all eternity because you _love me_? Did you vilify me, did you let my name become a synonym for _evil_ , did you make me the scapegoat for every vile, repulsive act your _creations_ commit because you _LOVE ME_?” Lucifer snarls, wrenching his fingers out from where they’re laced with Chloe’s and slamming both hands on the table hard enough to rattle the ceramic dishes. He stands up, pushing his chair back with an earsplitting screech of wood on marble.

She should do something, she should calm him down somehow, she should touch his shoulder, she should—but this is going south so fast and she’s paralyzed by the waves of rage rolling off of him. She knows he’d never hurt her, she _knows_ that in her bones, but when he gets this divinely, righteously angry, it’s hard to see him as her Lucifer and not the wrathful Devil of the stories. 

His face, contorted in anger, melts away, revealing the horrifically burnt, exposed muscle of his Devil face, and he stares directly at God, red eyes burning. “Your _love_ made me a monster.”

God looks honestly shocked. “My son—” He starts to say, but Lucifer _growls_ low in his throat. 

“I stopped being your son a long, long time ago.”

God opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted yet again, this time by Michael, who shoves his own chair back and glares across the table at Lucifer with hate in his eyes. 

“He only had to put you in Hell because you started the Rebellion, because all the bliss and the luxuries of the Silver City weren’t _good enough_ for you, and you saw what the humans had and just _had_ to have it for yourself. You didn’t care what you had to break to get it! You arrogant, selfish brat, _you’re_ the one who made yourself the monster, or were you not listening to the whole part about self-actualization? And maybe the reason you feel like such a monster is because you were so greedy, so covetous of the gift of _free will_ that you ripped apart your own family for it, _Samael_.”

“ _That’s not my name_ ,” Lucifer snarls, and his wings explode from his back in a blur, shooting past Chloe’s head and ruffling her hair. She gasps and flinches forward. Somewhere in the back of her mind, far beneath the part that’s frozen in shock and fear and pain for what Lucifer is experiencing, she notes that his wings are white and feathery, not at all the leathery, bat-like ones he’d had during his transformation those few months ago, despite the way he’s currently wearing his Devil face. 

Michael’s wings burst forth in response, strikingly dark and crooked, and he looks ready to finish the fight Lucifer had claimed was over when he showed up to her apartment disheveled and spattered with blood. 

At this point, Amenadiel has also stood up and rounded the table to their side, trying desperately and ineffectually to placate Lucifer, murmuring, “Brother, he’s just trying to enrage you, you know how Michael is. Don’t let him get to you.” 

Lucifer just growls again and brushes off the tentative hand Amenadiel rests on his shoulder. “I’ve beaten you twice before, now, Michael, but if you want to have another go, suit yourself!” he says with a mocking laugh. 

“ _ENOUGH_!”

Oh, shit. 

Chloe lost track of what God was up to in all the terror/excitement, but apparently He’s reached His limit for seeing His sons at each other’s throats.

“I came down here to reconnect with my children and make amends, not to watch you two dig up old grudges that are better left buried and tear each other to pieces,” God says, and the calm, composed aura He’s been projecting for most of this dinner has dissolved into genuine agitation. 

“Of course, why would I presume to assume you would acknowledge the way you treated me the last time we saw each other, when you tossed me into the land of eternal torment out of _love_ ,” Lucifer retorts, his wings quivering with anger or pain or maybe both. 

“I am sorry, my son, but I had to make an example of you! Our family—”

“We never were a family, though, were we?” Lucifer cries, gesturing angrily, hurt bleeding from every line of his body. “It was you giving orders to jump and we, your loyal soldiers, executing them without daring to ask how high! So _fuck_ me if I saw how much fun humans were having with this tiny thing called free will and thought it might be nice to have a bit of that in God’s little army!”

God’s eyes narrow, and a frown carves deep furrows into His face. “I will not discuss this with you right now, Samael. I can see now that visiting Earth was a mistake. I thought I could make things right, before I—but I was wrong.”

“Before _what_? Before you fuck off to you-knows-where for another couple of eons?” Lucifer demands, tears forming in his eyes and sizzling into vapor as soon as they hit the charred flesh of his cheeks, and Chloe wants so badly to leap out of her seat and embrace him and tell him how wonderful he is and how much she loves him, but she can’t get in the middle of this, she can’t—

“Before I die,” says the Almighty, gazing straight into Lucifer’s eyes.

“What?” Lucifer croaks, and the sound is so soft and shocked Chloe can barely hear it over the questions multiplying in her brain about the concept of God, the omnipotent, eternal Creator of the universe, dying. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“That’s not possible,” Michael says dismissively, at the same time Amenadiel says, in the most uncharacteristically plaintive tone Chloe’s ever heard him use, “Father, what do You mean?”

“This is not exactly how I planned on telling you,” God says, looking almost sheepish (which is _not_ an expression Chloe can say she’d ever imagined God wearing, but she’s still too busy freaking out about the Him apparently being mortal (??????) thing to truly appreciate the novelty of the Creator’s embarrassed smile). “But yes, I’m afraid I am quite legitimately, if slowly, dying.”

“How?” Michael bursts out, offronted, like the very concept of his Father’s death is some kind of cosmic joke being played on him.

“I’m honestly not entirely sure. It’s a bit exciting, isn’t it?” 

Michael stares at God for a second, like he’s grown another head. “No!” he says, incredulous. “No, it is _not_ exciting! What does this even mean? If God can die, what does that mean for the rest of us sorry assholes living in the universe You created?”

“I’m relatively sure the universe will remain intact, Michael. Well, probably.” God taps his chin in thought for a moment. “Say eighty percent chance.”

“Eighty percent?” Michael echoes, aghast, voice loud and even more nasally than usual in outrage. 

His voice is so jarring, in fact, that it snaps Chloe out of her “Oh God, God is dying, oh God, oh shit, oh fuck” spiral, and she manages to notice that Lucifer is still standing there over her shoulder, staring at his Father silently. His Devil face has melted away, and his wings are drooping down so low the longest feathers (primaries?) brush the floor, like he’s forgotten they’re even there. 

Michael and God continue to go back and forth about the relative chances of the known universe imploding upon His death, and Amenadiel begins to chime in as well, his voice fraught with concern, but Chloe tunes them out and focuses on Lucifer.

“Hey,” she whispers, standing up and scooting back her chair quietly to stand in front of him. “Lucifer, are you okay?” Well, obviously he isn’t, but. Her brain is a little broken right now, and she’s trying her best. 

His eyes are unfocused, but when she touches his arm tentatively, they slide down to meet hers. “Detective,” he breathes. “Unfortunately, I’d have to say I’m quite the opposite at the moment.” 

“Understandable,” Chloe says, laughing weakly. “Me too. Nothing like the actual possibility of the world ceasing to exist at any moment to spice up family dinner.”

“Well,” Lucifer replies, somewhat unevenly, “it really wouldn’t be a proper gathering of this lot without _some_ kind of earth-shattering bombshell. In this case, I suppose, literally.”

Chloe can’t help it—she snorts at that, and throws her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck and her hands in the downy feathers where his wings sprout from his back. He freezes for a second, but soon enough his arms wrap around her from behind, and he rubs slow circles on her back. 

“Sorry, who exactly is comforting whom, here?” he whispers in her ear, mock offended. His voice is still a bit shaky, but if he’s able to crack jokes at a time like this, it’s probably a good sign, right?

Regardless, she resists the urge to roll her eyes, since only the collar of his no doubt ridiculously expensive dress shirt would see it, and squeezes him tighter. “It’s mutual, obviously,” she tells his neck.

“Oh, well, my mistake,” he says lightly, resting his chin on top of her head affectionately, and then, softer: “Thank you, Detective. Chloe.”

“Of course, Lucifer,” she says. They stay wrapped in each other’s arms for a moment longer, but Chloe can’t keep her detective brain, the one that’s always hyperaware of the details of everything going on in her environment, from noticing that Michael and God and Amenadiel seem to have quieted down behind her. 

“I think we have an audience,” she murmurs, and pulls away reluctantly so she can turn to see the other side of the table. 

Two angels and one Supreme Lord of the Universe look back at her. Michael, the bastard, looks caught between fear (presumably over the possibility of the universe disappearing) and disgust, Amenadiel seems sad (reasonably), and God is regarding the two of them fondly, like...well, like a proud father. 

“Bloody hell,” Lucifer mutters. Then, addressing God, he says, “So, you’re dying, then. Not quite what I was expecting to hear, seeing you for the first time after several millennia of absentee fatherhood.” Classic Lucifer: short periods of incredible emotional vulnerability followed by an immediate, whiplash-inducing return to his usual devil-may-care (literally) persona. But Chloe can hardly blame him for falling back on old coping mechanisms in the face of something like this. 

God nods. “As I said, not exactly the intended method of reveal, but yes.”

Amenadiel, who must have made his way over to God’s side while she and Lucifer were busy hugging, clasps one of God’s hands in both of his, eyes wide and shining. “There must be a way to prevent this, right, Father?” 

“If there were a way, I promise you I would have found it already,” God tells him gently, putting His hand on top of Amenadiel’s. “In truth, I came down here to say goodbye, and I’m sorry to have made such a mess of it. I didn’t realize before, but...I have a great deal to apologize for.”

Chloe glances up at Lucifer and sees raw hope and forced indifference written plainly in equal measure across his face. One of those apologies had better be for him. And it’d better be _massive_. 

“First, to all of my children: for disappearing. I thought I could simply do some exploring for a bit, perhaps start a new project, and I suppose I just...lost track of time. But that’s no excuse for vanishing without a word — I can never undo that, and I’m sorry. Furthermore, for the way I treated you all: you are my creations, of course, but you are living, thinking beings in your own right, and...I’m beginning to come around to the idea that it was unfair of me to offer humans autonomy, but not my first children, my family.”

Then, God lifts His hands from Amenadiel’s and looks directly at Lucifer. “And to you, Samael—Lucifer,” He says, correcting himself, “I must apologize individually.”

Michael, who’s been surprisingly silent and respectful through this, chooses this moment to ruin all that by butting in with a, “No, Dad, you don’t have to apologize to him, it was his fault—”

But God doesn’t even look at him, just holds up a hand, and Michael quails, his mouth snapping shut. 

“Actually, I believe I do. Even though this is likely far too little, too late, as humans say, I hope he might find it in himself to forgive me.” 

Lucifer stands still and silent as a marble statue beside her, and Chloe hopes, _prays_ that God doesn’t fuck this up.

“My son, after your rebellion, I was so angry. That you had convinced so many of your siblings to turn against me, that you had betrayed me and dared rise up against me. But more than that, I was scared. My family was falling to pieces before my eyes, and I thought that if I let you stay in the Silver City, even if I punished you in some other way for your actions, that you would try again and again until you got what you wanted, no matter how much you would have to destroy to get it. And so I cast you into Hell. I swear to you, my son, I never meant to banish you forever; it was to be temporary, so we both had time to ‘cool off,’ as they say. But then I left on my...vacation, and you were down there for so long, too long, and it seemed you had only gotten angrier at me, so I stayed away. Because you were right: the punishment did not fit the crime, and it was wrong of me to let it last so long, and cowardly of me to avoid you simply because I did not want to face the truth of what I had done. Lucifer, I am truly, deeply sorry for how much I hurt you. If you can never forgive me, I understand, but either way, I am glad I have had the chance to give you the apology you have deserved for so long.”

Ho-ly shit. That’s actually one of the most heartfelt apologies Chloe has heard in a long time. She’s almost impressed (but, you know, this still doesn’t undo what He did to Lucifer, _or_ the fact that He created her to be his soulmate or whatever. Yeah, still not exactly over that particular revelation). 

She glances up to see how Lucifer’s taken it, and isn’t overly surprised to see tears once again forming at the corners of his eyes. She wraps her hand around his again and squeezes tightly in silent support, because if she speaks she’s sure she’ll shatter the moment, and this is so incredibly important for him and his Father.

Lucifer lets out something that might be a sigh or might be a sob. “But...Mum said you wanted to kill me,” he whispers brokenly. “That she had to try so hard to convince you to _only_ toss me into Hell.”

Michael and Amenadiel, who’ve been respectfully silent, react soundlessly, confusion and (for Amenadiel) concern on their faces. But God’s face—crumples, almost. He’s looked solemn this whole time, but now He seems incredibly sad. 

“I’m sorry, my son, but that is not the truth. I can understand why you wouldn’t believe me, but…” 

Lucifer makes another choked noise that makes Chloe’s heart ache. As much as it hurts, though, this is part of healing, like the full Devil body incident. Or, at least, that’s what she’s trying to convince herself, because all this hurt can’t be for nothing, right? Fuck, she wishes Linda were here. She’d be handling this like a pro.

“I think...I do,” Lucifer says slowly, painfully, like each word is being torn out of him. He’s silent for a second, and then breathes: “And I think perhaps...I’m starting to forgive you, too.”

“Thank you,” says God softly, and Chloe sees Lucifer give him a watery version of his usual smile. 

“For what it’s worth,” Lucifer says, with a hint of his normal cavalier attitude, “I think I may owe you an apology, too. Well, you and my two brothers here. As wonderful as free will is, you’re right; I did tear our family apart over it. It wasn’t my intention, but it happened all the same, and I’m sorry. And Michael...I apologize for your wing. I never wished to injure you permanently.”

Michael grunts brusquely in acknowledgement, but he seems to be eyeing Lucifer in a new light, like he’s impressed by how much Lucifer has changed (though it’s also entirely possible he’s thinking something along the lines of, “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”). 

God and Amenadiel, on the other hand, smile warmly. “I forgive you, Lucifer,” God says gently. “And I want to say that I am so proud of how you, too, have grown these past few years here on Earth.”

Lucifer chuckles, even through the tears dancing on his eyelashes. “Oh, I don’t think I can take all the credit for that. The lovely Detective here, she’s the one you should be thanking for my personality makeover.” He squeezes her hand back, finally, and smiles down at her.

“About that,” Chloe says, before she can stop herself. Fuck, shit, fuck. Well, in for a penny... “Uh. Mr. Almighty, sir. I love Lucifer, and I developed that love on my own, through my own experiences, but I’m not crazy about the fact that I was apparently created for that purpose only. Kind of puts a damper on, well, your entire life when you figure out the only reason you exist is because you’re some kind of gift for someone else.”

She stares down literal God for a second, challengingly, before remembering that He’s, oh yeah, the omnipotent Creator of the universe, and ducking her head so she doesn’t have to see His face when He vaporizes her for disrespect. Although, to be fair, He didn’t vaporize Lucifer for yelling at Him, so maybe she has a chance. “With all due respect,” she adds, after _far_ too long a pause, still looking at the floor.

“Detective!” Lucifer exclaims, delighted. Okay, he was practically crying _how_ long ago? His mercurial nature would be a lot more charming right now if it weren’t for the threat of her _imminent destruction_. “Bravo! I didn’t know you had it in you, chewing out my father like that.”

“Lucifer!” Chloe hisses, snatching her hand away from his in protest. “Not the time!”

She braces for atomization, but instead hears a soft laugh from in front of her. Uh, what?

“Chloe Jane Decker,” says God kindly, and okay, that’s a tiny bit creepy but He _is_ God, so she guesses it’s allowed. “As much as I appreciate hearing your point of view, I must correct you on a few of your assumptions. Yes, I did send Amenadiel down to bless your mother, and that is how you were born, but _you_ are not a gift — as you said, you are your own person with your own thoughts, feelings, and experiences, and I did nothing to control you. The ‘gift’ you speak of is simply the way you are able to resist my son’s abilities with desire. You are the only human on Earth who sees him as he truly is.”

Wow. That is. A lot to process. The only human on Earth… _Fuck_. 

“Oh,” she says intelligently. 

“Yes,” God says, smiling again. “Very much so.”

“So, you never were trying to manipulate me, then, were you?” Lucifer asks, his voice soft with something like wonder. 

“No, Lucifer. I may have placed Chloe in your path in that she was born here in Los Angeles, but that is all I did. You two found each other.”

Chloe turns to look at Lucifer now, and he has absolutely the sappiest look in his eyes, the big dork, and she can’t help standing up on her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his. 

“Ewwwww,” says Michael, somewhere in the background.

“I think it’s very sweet,” Amenadiel replies admonishingly.

Chloe ignores them and reaches up to cradle Lucifer’s face in her hands, feeling the tickle of feathers on the back of her neck as his wings creep forward to encircle her in a feathery cocoon. 

After a few moments, they break apart with a contented sigh, a bit out of breath. Lucifer bends down to put his lips by her ear, his manicured scruff grazing her cheek. “I,” he whispers. Stops, breathes. “Chloe, I...love you.”

“I love you, too, Lucifer,” she whispers back, probably smiling like a madwoman, but who cares? They’re in love! 

Also the universe is at risk of imminent disintegration because God is dying! Shit! In all the excitement of apologies and revelations that have happened in, like, the past five minutes, that little tidbit legitimately slipped her mind.

She gives Lucifer a peck on the cheek and pulls back, and her madwoman smile must have just died a horrible death because Lucifer looks at her quizzically.

“Uh, just remembered the universe might implode when your Father dies. Kinda killed the mood, sorry,” she admits quietly. 

“Ah, yes, that,” Lucifer says dryly, opening his wings back up and doing that weird little shoulder shrug motion to tuck them back into the ether or a pocket dimension or wherever the hell they go when they disappear (she hasn’t gotten around to asking yet). 

“Dear Dad, are you guys finally done with all that?” Michael quips from behind Chloe. She turns around in time to catch the tail end of his exasperated glare. “Yeah? Okay, great. Yeah, us Celestials have some logistics to figure out, re: who’s running Hell and how to make sure everyone else doesn’t die horribly and painfully when Father does. I’m sure all the shop talk would be _really boring_ for you, so maybe it’s time you ran along home?”

Chloe can feel Lucifer bristle on her behalf behind her and puts a hand on his arm to forestall another sibling bickering match. “I’m not a child, Michael; I can handle it. But if it really is…‘family business’ or whatever you want to call it, I understand the desire for privacy.” Not like she just witnessed eons worth of private family grudges being dredged up and forgiven...oh wait, yeah, she did. And she is handling it _so_ well. Yep, pinnacle of emotional stability right here. 

Amenadiel gives Michael a surprisingly nasty side-eye, and says, much more nicely, “I would love to have you stay, Chloe, but I understand if you might want a little time to...process everything you’ve heard here tonight.” 

That’s good of him, giving her an out. She doesn’t want to abandon Lucifer to the clutches of his family, but—she sneaks a glance over her shoulder. Lucifer already looks much more composed, if wrung out, and he’s glaring at Michael in more of a “stop being a dick” way than a “I’m going to carve up your face again and then kill you for this grievous insult to my Detective” way. And she knows Amenadiel will have his back no matter what happens. So…

She pats Lucifer where her hand rests on his arm and meets God’s eyes. He’s been silent since explaining her “gift,” apparently content to watch what happens with a small smile playing around His lips. 

“I think I might take that advice, if that’s okay?”

God dips his chin minutely, which she takes as permission to be excused. “Thanks, Amenadiel,” she says earnestly, hoping relief isn’t too obvious in her voice. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be around them or anything, it’s just. A Lot. 

“Of course,” Amenadiel says, giving her a surreptitious wink. 

“Detective, you don’t have to let Michael boss you around,” Lucifer starts, stepping up beside her, but she elbows him gently in the side and he shuts up.

“Don’t worry, Lucifer, I’m sure I can count on you to fill me in on anything relevant,” she says lightly, but raises her eyebrows at him to ask, _you okay?_

Lucifer blinks at her for a second, then seems to get it. His protective frown cracks into a rare genuine smile, and his eyes are understanding. “Right, yes, of course I will. Breakfast tomorrow morning? I’ll make omelettes for you and the little urchin.” 

Chloe smiles back. He’ll be just fine. “That sounds great, Lucifer.” 

She gives him one last kiss on the cheek, which he returns, nods at the rest of his family politely, and then heads for the elevator. 

Well. This was definitely not the outcome she was expecting from this dinner. No broken dishes, but her brain feels somewhat broken enough to make up for that. She doubts she’s sleeping tonight; Trixie’s almost getting too old for it now, but this is definitely a bedtime story and cuddle night, and then a “lie awake thinking existential thoughts about being in love with an angel and how the universe’s expiration date might be much, much sooner than astronomers predict” night. 

She gets all the way back to her car before she realizes that she’s still hungry. For a family _dinner_ , none of them really ate much even before the arguing started. Damn, she really should’ve taken her plate. 

But hey, at least there’s omelettes to look forward to.


End file.
